There are roads. Then there are roads. The journey begins regardless.
Ends as well. Although we do not really know whether it is either, we
can be sure it isn't neither. There is always something afoot and
something which is invariably bigger than us. Why? So we do not really
get to become so jaded maybe. That we get to keep that which makes us
human. Able to nod at the sunrise and say, "Yes. There is hope. Maybe
we'll make it through." This after facing your ghosts of whatever past
and present. To finally duel and grapple with them, to find the courage
to tangle and fight to overcome. To wait with bated breath for the
sunset. To win and leave all the ghosts in the dark to forever wander,
unable the find the road to your heart and allowing you to let go of
your hate.
There is wailing and loss as a door closes and dear one departs. You
find it hard to believe. To hope. To look life in the eye and scream,
"Do your worst". Give it time. It will heal whether you want it to or
not. Then a new dawn arises and you start to smile again, shaking your
head softly, remembering the time when you told yourself you cannot go
on anymore.
What is triumph without the despair of a crushing defeat? What is gain
without the sting of loss? What use is finding courage without the
presence of abject fear? What comfort is love without the blood curdling
venom of hate?
What would finding you mean, if I had not gone through the world and
back, whispering your name in every stranger's ear?
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